


(Last) Vow

by Kwehlous



Series: Kinktober 2017 [7]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Body Swap, Kinktober 2017, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 10:28:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12297294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kwehlous/pseuds/Kwehlous
Summary: Something didn't smell right.





	(Last) Vow

Noctis needs comfort and also desires to give support. Ignis hardly needs any coddling, but for his prince, his King, he has all the support in the world, in all forms.

They take a bunker room to themselves.

Noct's moans echo and drown out the nasty metal creek of the bunk bed. Ignis hold fast to his narrow hips, clutching to the memory of the scar just underneath the hem of the shirt. The marred flesh under his thumbs and Nocis' sweet keens help him remember his body as he fucks him.

A hand reaches for him, Noctis' hand, and it grasps his arm, nails biting into his flesh. "Iggy! Y-yes, more," he begs. Ignis hunches over him, gripping the bunk bed frame. He lets hips work, his face burying into a soft neck, hair tickling his face that he knows is as black as polished onyx.

But the smell… it isn't right.

Noctis usually smells faintly of fresh air that came from the Armiger, plastics from his clothing and his fish arsenal, and the same brand of soap that all of them used since this all started. He smells… like flora. Flora, and machinery, and something distinctively sickly, like the underlining putrid waft of demon that he only recently became aware of with the loss of his sight.

He prods his nose deeper into Noctis' crown of hair, chasing that putrefaction, and realizes that he doesn't feel any gel and the hair against his face is curlier… longer.

Ignis stills his hips. "Noctis?"

"Why'd you stop?" Whines a voice all too familiar, for all the wrong reasons, the roll of the tongue as pronounced as the phantom pain it triggers in his facial scars, "Is something wrong, Iggy?"

Along with the voice came a change in the body underneath him. It was larger now, stronger, hotter on the inside where his walls were squeezing him tight and eagerly. The childhood scar was replaced with mangled flesh from injuries thousands and thousand of years old in their layers, depth, and variety. The hand on his arm was thicker, its grip painful.

"Don't stop…"

Ignis snatches his arm away, a dagger immediately summoning to his fingers. With a knuckle-white grip, he plunges the daggers through skin and bone and guts where he estimates the middle back to be. He pulls out the dagger, and plunges in again, and again, the squelching sound of blood and black ooze satisfying to his anxiety that he was doing this to the man has been fucking all along.

The body slumps.

Ignis crawls backwards, pushing his cock, biologically hard from adrenaline, back into his pants. He catches his breath, daggers up to defend himself, because Ardyn did not die easily, if at all. And he was close to beating retreat and finding Noctis, where ever he actually was, while Ardyn was down.

"I… iggy… why…?"

It was Noctis by the sound of it, but he wasn't certain. It could be another trick. He slides off the bunk bed, putting distances between them.

"Iggy…? _Iggy_ …" The words came with bubbling coughs and a whine that was suspiciously crying. Still could be Ardyn.

He was right at the door, close to the button to open it, when he feels a horrible tingle in his head that trickles down to his arms, similar to when he couldn't use his weaponry on the train to Gralea. Unlike then, when the disconnection from the Armiger was instantaneous, this is a slow horrible thing, as if he were bleeding from a wound he couldn't find.

With every strike of his heart, Ignis feels his connection to his daggers dissipate, until they sparkle away, as if Noctis…

"No…"

Ignis scampers back to the bunk bed, and the limp body in his arms is covered in blood, human blood, and is small, and smells of magic, and plastics, and soap, hair soft and short and full of crusted gel. His lips are cold.

He takes out his phoenix downs and applies, tears running down sightless eyes. "Noctis… no…"

"At least he died happy, in the arms of the man he loved," came the laughter of the man who Ignis silently vowed would truly taste the end of his blades before his own, or Noctis', life truly ended.

He applied another phoenix down, and prayed harder.


End file.
